Disneymania!
by littlesoprano
Summary: The Fang Gang goes to Disneyland! Angel broods, Gunn laments his lost coolness, Fred plots the ultimate revenge on a certain blue-haired demoness, Spike and Wes outrun rabid fangirls, and Illyria plots her takeover of Sleeping Beauty Castle!
1. ParkingEntranceMain Street, USA

Disclaimer: The six main characters are the property of Mutant Enemy, and any Disney characters who may be mentioned are property of Disney. The name Disneyland, as well as ride and attraction titles are also copyright of Disney.

Very important note: This may come off as really obvious and I apologize for that, but I do need to cover this for my own protection. This story depicts the characters riding actual attractions at Disneyland Park. At times, they _may_ engage in behavior that is not consistent with park rules (though I am trying to limit this as much as possible and it may not even end up being an issue.) This story is NOT an endorsement of such behavior; it is done strictly for comedic purposes and should in no way, shape, or form be replicated by visitors to the park. Disneyland rules should be followed at all times, and the author is not held responsible for any consequences of not doing so.

Story Note: This was supposed to be a chapter of my other story That's Entertainment, but as it is going to be too long for that I've made it it's own story. The same basic principles apply, though. The final battle was won—just choose whatever theory for that you want. It's not important to the story. Angel Investigations is back in business at the Hyperion. Illyria has all her powers and brought back Wes and Fred. Again—choose theory. Probably the most important note is that the characters are played for comedy in this, so much of the angst that plagues them just isn't there. While I believe they are in-character, its more of a focus on their comedically-exploitable traits (this particularly applies to Illy.)

Disneymania!

"Now remember everyone, we're parked in Donald 24. Perhaps someone should write that down."

"Wes, I have a photographic memory, remember?"

"Right. That's what you said in Romania at the opera house, and we ended up looking for our bloody carriage for two bloody hours."

"Spike! I didn't ask you!"

"Has that ever stopped me before?"

"Who is this Donald 24?"

"Does anyone else think that we're in for a really long day?"

Five other members of the Fang Gang—Angel, Spike, Illyria, Wesley, and Winifred-- silently echoed Charles Gunn's observation as they trooped through the multiple levels of the mammoth parking garage. When a grateful client had given them a one-day protection spell that allowed the two vampires to go out in sunlight, Spike and Angel had been eager to take advantage of the opportunity and do something they would be unable to do at night. After two days of arguing, griping, and sniping, they'd finally hit on an idea they both could agree on... Disneyland. Despite the years of living within fifty miles of the internationally-known park, they'd never got to go before due to the vampire-unfriendly early-evening close time during the off seasons. During the on-seasons of summer it didn't close until very late—but the crowds would be so heavy that they likely would have been driven to eating people within an hour and a half. There'd also be the problem of Illyria's reaction to the literal floods of humanity, and Spike wouldn't go without her. There was no telling what she would do.

Of course, there was really no telling about today, either. It was a worrisome thought.

"Ya'll are just grouchy 'cause of the car ride," Fred stated with authority, picking up the conversation.

"What is ya'll?" That was Illyria, of course.

"A butchery of the English language," Wesley was forced to comment. "No offense, darling."

"I'm surprised you didn't figure it out after an hour and a half of Dixie Chicks blaring in your ear," Gunn mumbled under his breath.

"See—grouchy!" Fred exclaimed, overlooking Gunn's slam of her favorite group in her triumph over having been right.

"I'm not grouchy."

"Yes you are, Charles."

"Well, we shouldn't have tried to put all six of us in one car! I had to ride with Spike's boots in my face. And the car smells. I think it needs to be shampooed after that last fight with those nasty purple goo things."

"Actually, those were Grenlar demons," Wes supplied. "'Purple goo things' is not exactly specific to— "

"There's nothing wrong with my car!" Angel broke in, indignant. "It's a classic." He had caught nothing but slack from his grandchilde over not having at least brought the Viper from Wolfram and Hart, and it was a sensitive topic.

"All I'm sayin' is, it's ripe."

"Not that I'm agreeing with the poof here—'cause believe me, that's never going to happen," Spike cut in, "but the car probably smells because Her Royal Blue Badness ate the pine tree air freshener."

"Thank you, Spike!" Angel exclaimed, not sure whether to be happy for the backup or disgusted at that fact that he now owed gratitude to his constant rival.

"Great, an orally-fixated ancient demon. This oughta be fun," Gunn said.

"Wait a minute... she ate my air freshener?" Angel backtracked, crestfallen.

"Yeah, well, after that petrie dish this morning, it must've been like an after-breakfast mint," replied Fred. "Oh, by the way-- Illyria, that petrie dish had an experiment growin' in it. You probably ate radioactive chemicals." Fred did not sound particularly distressed.

"It tasted like the food you humans call... chicken," Illyria said, equally unconcerned by the possibility of toxic poisoning. "But what is 'orally fixated?' And it was not I who consumed this minty tree you all speak of."

"It wasn't?" asked Angel.

"No, half-breed. Are your mental functions so weak that I must repeat myself?"

"So who did?"

Fred suddenly ducked her head, then became very interested in the license plate of the Toyota Camry to her right.

"Fred...?" Spike laughed.

"Fred who is orally fixated, or Fred ate the tree freshener?" Angel tried to clarify.

"Get up to speed."

"I'm not orally fixated!" protested Fred.

"But you did eat the tree freshener? Is that what we're saying?"

There was a long, long pause, with all eyes on the tiny Texan. Fred considered lying, but knew she'd never get away with it. She was, after all, quite possibly the world's worst liar.

"What, I was hungry! We should've stopped," she mock-pouted, hoping that going into cute-Fred mode would sufficiently charm all concerned. It had a good track record. She concentrated on making her wide eyes go from doe to guilty-but-sorry puppy.

Wesley, naturally, looked completely won over in the space of half a second, but Angel was not so easily swayed. "You had sixteen breakfast burritos an hour ago! I'll be lucky if I have enough money left for the tickets. Remind me why I decided to make this a company-funded trip?"

"Great, Peaches is being a cheapskate—as usual."

"Speaking of which, Illyria, you have some scrambled egg in your hair."

"Oops—did I cream Illyria with a burrito? Silly me." Fred's expression changed from wounded puppy to nonchalant innocence.

"Wait a minute, Wes—what does that have to do with Angel being a cheapskate? Which you are," Gunn added.

"I am not!" Angel argued. "I didn't see any of you offering to pay. And Fred, really—an air freshener? I mean, you ate that plastic lid that one time when it fell in your taco, but isn't this going a bit far?"

"I have a high metabolism!" shot Fred.

"That's it!" Gunn exploded, throwing up his hands. "No more car rides. Next time, we're letting Illyria time-portal us."

The group fell silent.

Angel's voice cut through the blissful calm. "Why didn't I think of that? It would've saved a fortune on gas."

Main Street, USA/Entrance

" 'M not puttin' away my leather!" Spike declared adamantly, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his back on the locker rental room. After finally navigating the perils of the parking garage and having watched Angel cry as he forked over the money for their tickets, the gang had passed through the entrance of Disneyland to Main Street, USA. Though the park was not yet open, the early crowds were allowed to explore the shops and service buildings until the gates leading to the "lands" were open, giving them full access. The street was a replica of a quaint turn-of-the-century town, complete with old-fashioned storefronts and horseless carriages.

And-- judging from the whispers and stares-- Angel, Spike, and Illyria stuck out like Mickey Mouse in a Warner Brothers cartoon. While everyone else was dressed for a warm Californian fall day, the three of them had shown up looking like... well, like two vampires and... whatever it was Illyria was supposed to look like. Neither Angel nor Illyria looked any more inclined to change than Spike, though Fred was certainly giving it the good college try.

"I know you three are impervious to temperature and all, but will the sky fall if you don't wear leather and dark colors for one day?" she argued, giving a meaningful sigh.

"Yes!"

Wesley, usually quite the dark dresser himself, stood beside his wife resplendent in a light-colored striped cotton shirt and jeans.

Spike leaned towards him with an aside. "She dressed you, didn't she, mate."

"Quite literally," Wes admitted, looking a bit defeated—but very, very happy about it.

"Whipped."

"I talked her out of the paisley!"

"Still whipped."

"Speaking of whipped," jumped in Fred, overhearing, "Spike, couldn't you talk your wife into something less.. ummm... _Catwoman?_"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," the blond vampire fairly purred.

Fred was not charmed. "You know what I mean."

"Look," Spike conceded, "she got rid of the blue skin for today—I think that's all you're gonna get out of her." He'd been hard-pressed to convince her to do even that much. Her eyes and the streaks in her hair, though, were still blue as could be, much to his delight.

"Where is she, anyway?" Angel questioned, looking around. "Spike, you were supposed to keep an eye on her!"

"She's not a little kid, y'know. She's a god-king... she can take care of herself."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Protestations aside, Spike took a quick look, just to be safe. "You see—no problem. She's right over there... taking apart the Sno-Cone trolley."

"Sno-Cones—where?" Fred lit up like a Christmas tree, then crossed her arms in amused impatience. "Nice try, guys, but no more trying to distract me. All I know is, three of us—" she indicated herself, Wesley, and Gunn—"look normal, but the three of _you_ look like the next act at Tommorowland!"

" 'M not checking my leather!"

"Okay, fine," Fred acquiesced. The truth was, she couldn't have cared less what the three of them wore, usually. She liked dark leather as much as the next girl. It was just that, as one of the only two members of the gang who had been to the park before, she knew very well what could happen, and she did _not_ want to be stuck in it. "But when you get swarmed with five hundred little kids thinking you're characters from Treasure Planet or somethin', don't come crying to me. Why do you think Lorne decided not to come?"

Spike considered this.

"You think they could get me an extra lock for one of those cubbies?"

"Thanks Spike," Fred grinned. "And you other two—you're comin' with me."

"I look stupid," Angel announced about fifteen minutes later, monotone, as Fred pulled him out of the Emporium shop and into full view of his friends. Wes and Gunn tried their best to contain their mirth, hiding their laughs behind well-timed coughs. It was a lost cause. The dark and broody vampire was dressed in tan khakis... topped with a downright sunny polo shirt printed all over with Tigger and Eeyore from "Winnie the Pooh." "When did she get so bossy?" he lamented, catching the look of doting triumph on Fred's face. Her platitudes of how 'cute' and 'summery' his shirt looked on him did little to ease his embarrassment.

Illyria had changed, too, into black jeans and the one piece of apparel in the place she deigned fit to 'clothe her sacred person.'

It was a bright blue baby tee with Ursula from "The Little Mermaid" screen-printed on the front.

Angel's one consolation in the entire matter was that she'd simply "morphed" into the outfit, rather than him having to shell out more cash. Unfortunately, she had chosen to do it right in the middle of Ladies Apparel. They really were going to have to have a refresher course with her on the public morphing issue.

The little group came back to find Spike, sans leather, leaning casually against the locker room door. His black t-shirt, usually hidden by the duster, was so tight it looked painted on over his sharp muscles.

"Most pleasing," said Illyria, running one hand over his chest in possessive satisfaction.

" 'Course, luv," Spike grinned.

Illyria's brow knit. "But would be more so had I remembered to bring your collar."

"Oh, I so don't want to know," Gunn dismissed himself, raising his hands.

"And now... is this your card?" Wes asked softly, holding up a two of hearts.

Fred, the recipient of his question, nodded. "Uh-huh," she replied just as softly, and the two of them shared a mutually-impressed look.

Then again, Spike considered, watching, those two looked impressed with one another if their respective partner put their shoe on the correct foot in the morning. Fred was looking over Wes in a way vaguely akin to the way she looked a good taco, or the mega-jumbo popcorn tub at the movies.

"And now, for my next trick..." Wes continued, his voice dropping to definite husky.

"This guy can conjure up fireballs, and now he's doing card tricks?" Gunn commented in bored disbelief, watching his two friends as they stood by the entrance of the magic shop. Gunn himself had quickly tired of the Penny Arcade and was anxious for the park to open.

Illyria was a little more direct in her commentary. Going up to the couple, she announced "Both of your bodies are warming. You scent the air with pheromones."

"And?" Wes asked her with an amused little smile.

The demoness looked at him over-obviously. "Get a room."

"Hey, look guys," Angel came in, walking over. "They're getting ready to open up the gates." The vampire was indeed correct. The crowds, noticing, had begun to move farther down the street. Ahead of them rose the impressive sight of Sleeping Beauty Castle, flags flying.

"That is a fine palace," Illyria observed thoughtfully. "I wonder which warlord holds dominion over it." One could practically _see_ the wheels turning in her head.

"And again—I repeat—it's gonna be a _long_ day," Gunn sighed.


	2. Adventureland

Author's Notes: A huge thank you to all of you reviewers! For those of you who were wondering, this fic isn't going to deal with how they won the battle or how Illyria got back her powers and Fred. Characters are going to be miraculously brought back, just because this fic is for pure fun.

And I threw in some more Cheap!Angel just for you guys!

Adventureland

Despite Illyria's protestations that they should make a thorough investigation of the castle in order to ascertain it's vulnerabilities, the gang made a mad dash for Adventureland as soon as the gates opened. Angel had created a 'battle plan' for hitting each and every major attraction at the park that day, fully implementing line timing and the use of Fastpasses, which allowed guests come back to the most popular rides during a certain time period and go through a much shorter line. First on the agenda for the day was the Indiana Jones Adventure.

In no time at all they were standing at the ride, which from the outside looked like the ruins of an ancient temple. It was surrounded by dense foliage from the next door Jungle Cruise attraction. If there was one thing that set Disneyland rides apart from the rest, it was the attention to atmosphere and storyline. What made it even better was that very few of the park patrons had made it there yet. Team Angel skipped the Fastpass area commenced rushing through the open line, which Spike, the pop-culture junkie, informed them was nearly a mile long, all wrap-arounds considered. The vampire had been talking of little but the ride for the past few days, in fact. Gunn, who had attended the park once with Fred, hadn't ridden that attraction due to a closing, but nonetheless assured them all that it was 'tight.'

Illyria looked vaguely confused by this, the walls being quite open at all sides, but Wes was happily in agreement the moment they were handed decoder cards at the entrance. On each card was a translation key to the symbols that marked many of the walls along the line path.

"Fascinating!" he exclaimed, happy as a little boy. He was soon far behind the rest of the group, lingering in order to translate the first trail of symbols that he saw.

"Come on, English!" Gunn exclaimed from the next doorway. "You're holding us up!"

"But I have to translate these symbols!" Wes protested at a near-whine.

"Look, this ride's sponsored by the phone company, right? They probably just say 'dial ATT' or something. Trust me." Wes gave him a very adamant look. "Fine, you can catch up later. I give up."

About a minute later Wesley dispiritedly re-joined the gang, by that time a few rooms down. "It does," he admitted sadly, lost and disillusioned. As if by magic, his usually neat hair was mussed, his collar undone. It wouldn't have been too much of a surprise if a five-o-clock shadow suddenly arrived nine hours early.

Fred took a deep breath. Her husband looked so rumpled and cute and yet dangerously sexy when he was disillusioned. In fact, he was immediately upgraded from jumbo-popcorn to gigantic walking taco. She licked her lips.

Salivating scientists and woeful former Watchers aside, the group passed quickly into a series of large stone rooms and dimly lit hallways. The attention to detail and atmosphere was amazing, making one believe one was actually in a lost jungle temple. Wes, bitter, let out occasional vitriol-filled spurts about chronologically incorrect architecture and theological references.

"Oh, well obviously," Angel played along. Honestly, he didn't have a clue. Fred didn't, either, but she did know one thing—a big splash of hot sauce had just been thrown on her Wes-as-taco mental metaphor. She shot him a come-hither... NOW... look. Wes caught it, grinned, and said nothing more about the architecture.

Behind them, Spike was also enjoying the intricacies of the ride set-up, but he was eager to get through to the actual ride bit-- so eager, in fact, that he didn't notice for a moment that Illyria had fallen behind. Backtracking, he found her standing beside a circular relic placed in the center of the largest room, its plated sides decorated in images of snake-gods and unfortunate mortals. One of her fingers rested on it. Above in the domed ceiling was a faded-color mural of celestial scenes. Spike was just about to launch a joke concerning her 'lost brethren' when she turned towards him.

Illyria looked like she could cry.

"Oh, Little Blue," Spike said softly, a thousand good, sarcastic comments dying on his lips. He went up and pulled her into a hug. "You're homesick, aren't you."

"No," she replied, stubborn and dark, but put her head on his shoulder just the same. "I cannot be afflicted with sickness in the manner of weak humans."

"No, I mean... you miss... never mind, 's alright." He smoothed her hair. "'S alright," he repeated.

He wished other people could see this side of their relationship, though he had to admit that he was as guilty of hiding their softer side as Illyria was. Underneath all the snark, punches, leather, pets, and harlots, there were two beings who truly cared for one another. They were perfectly matched, he and his goddess. He'd been so glad when Illyria had managed to get Fred back for Wesley, not only for their sake—of course— but because it gave him permission, in a way, to love her the way he wanted to.

Not that he needed permission. He was a Big Bad after all, a Scourge of Europe, a...

And... her posturing was wearing off on him.

"We don't have to go on this," he offered.

She eyed him closely. "You have spoken of nothing else since we made plans to come to this land of Disney."

"No problem. The others can go on this... _kiddie_ ride... while we _Big Bads_ go take on that flying elephant one." Spike let out a cocky smirk for emphasis.

"We will explore this temple now," Illyria countered, "and then later we will tame the elephants." This was all delivered with queenly superiority, but Spike knew the gesture for what it was. Illyria, high king of everything and whatever, was doing something completely unselfish—and for him. He just smiled.

"Tell you what. Later we'll get you some of those Mickey Mouse ears, yeah? Cheer you right up."

She nodded, ever the magnanimous goddess. "That is acceptable."

--------------------

Spike and Illyria caught up to the others in the loading area, just in time to be funneled into a boarding line. One of the oversized jeeps that served as ride vehicle pulled up beside them and they buckled themselves into the long seats. Illyria ended up with the "steering wheel," which was of course a non-functioning prop piece, though it appeared to turn satisfactorily in her hands. The goddess had been quite keen to learn to drive, but strangely, no one would teach her. It mattered very little to her really—though Angel's two-day tirade about a mysterious scratch on his car had grated on her nerves.

"Looks like you're drivin', Illy," Spike grinned, putting his arm around the back of her seat. The grin turned to a frown when an employee made him relocate the arm behind the safety bar.

Illyria was largely unconcerned by the logistics of his attempt. She was, however, taking her duties as driver very seriously. "I vow to guide us through this temple safely... ya'll."

"Okay, that was just disturbing," muttered Fred, crossing her arms. Wesley, staring at the statues littering the boarding area, was frustratingly oblivious. Gunn gave an emphatic nod of agreement as he strapped himself in.

Spike looked on, amused. Illyria thought that ride was _real_, and he had no intentions of correcting her. She'd figure it all out soon enough, so why not let her have her fun while it lasted? Illyria wasn't stupid or slow in any way. She could draw up battle plans so complex, involving millions of troops and spanning years, that would blow the mind. She'd amassed libraries full of her own kind of wisdom. It was just that she'd been dumped, a million years out of the primordium, into the modern world—it was natural that she wouldn't be exactly up to speed on technology. Another person might have been running around half-crazed from the change. For now, Illyria was able to experience the ride the way a child would— and there was something lovely about that.1

There was a bit of a 'moment' when the ride attendant made Illyria fasten her safety belt, but they were then off smoothly – or not so smoothly. The jeep simulated rough, uneven terrain—and badly in need of a tune-up at that. The voice of the 'professor' character crackled over the 'car radio' soundtrack, further setting up the plotline of the ride. They were supposed to be retrieving treasure from the temple, but would be doomed if they looked into the eyes of the god Mara statue.

Naturally, at that moment, they whipped around into the "Hall of Fate," had a fleeting glance at the treasure, and looked right at the statue. The professor's voice squawked as Mara's boomed over the loudspeaker.

"Who dares to look into the eyes of Mara!"

"I did, you fool!" thundered Illyria, vaulting forward to stand in defiance. Unfortunately, the action lost a lot of menace when she hit the safety bar. Recovering quickly, she raised a fist instead. "I am Illyria, god-king of the primordium, shaper of— " Her speech was cut off as the jeep flew into a dark tunnel curve, recorded sounds of squealing tires and brakes adding effectively.

The jeep burst upon a huge, cavernous underground room, complete with lava, skeletons, and spitting fire columns. The soundtrack soured over the loudspeaker and Angel gasped. This was hero-heaven! Caves, fire, giant beasts, rescuing-- it was all there! The souled vampire had a fleeting worry that he just might have a moment of perfect happiness.

Come to think about it, going to an amusement park called the "Happiest Place on Earth" might not have been the swiftest idea he'd ever had...

The car navigated across a rickety bridge slung over some bubbling lava pools, which conveniently 'broke' while they were on it. Illyria gave a triumphant smile over her shoulder to the car full of passengers, confident that her master driving skills had saved them in the nick of time. Flying around a narrow bend, they saw a Indiana Jones animatronic trying to hold back some terrible creature behind huge double-doors.

"Great, I ask for help and they send me tourists," it said.

"What is a tourist?" Illyria hissed in Spike's ear.

"It's uhhh.... a powerful mythic warrior," he covered, figuring it was best to play it safe.

"Ah. He must have anticipated our arrival."

_Our._ Spike smiled.

In the most impressive room yet they were greeted by a giant cobra, covering the entire length of one huge wall. Illyria's eyes lit up, and Spike held one of her arms to ward off what was looking like a family reunion.

"I could take that," Angel smirked, thumbing at the cobra. "Way smaller than the dragon I beat in the alley..... AHHH!" The cobra struck, the jaws snapping shut directly next to Angel's head. The other riders let out laughing surprised shrieks. Angel got a stomach full of lap bar when he almost jumped straight up in shock. Fred giggled, Spike smirked. Gunn flat-out laughed.

"The dragon-slayer's afraid of a little plastic snake?" he teased, laughing heartily.

Unfortunately, he was soon to get his. As the jeep slowed in an a pitch-dark room, a distinctive squeaking--almost a high-pitched chirp—filled the air. Gunn shifted uneasily his seat. "Uhh.... that better not be what I think it is," he gulped, trying to smother a whimper.

It was.

"Rats!!" the vampire-hunter cried, his voice jumping a good octave. The jeep's headlights illuminated the crawling vermin, and holographic projections above showed branches teaming with them. A few sound effects simulated the laden branches actually falling down into the seats.

"Get 'em off me!" Gunn yelled, brushing at his arms frantically.

"I will save you," Illyria assured him as the jeep sped off again, taking dark tunnels at dangerous speeds. They idled in another, where skeleton warriors shot darts and arrows at them. Tiny blasts of air and 'thwacking' sound effects did the trick entirely too well.

"This wheel does not obey my commands!" said Illyria, frustrated, just before it came off in her hands altogether. The jeep stopped, faced with a gigantic rolling ball coming right at them. Several riders screamed, ooohed, an ahhhed. At the very last second, the vehicle dove beneath the rock at a steep decline while the Indiana Jones theme song blared heroically. The ride was over, and Illyria fairly strutted down the exit ramp.

"I have saved all of your lives and those of the humans whimpering and screaming behind us. You are in my debt." She paused, turning dramatically to face them. "I demand in recompense... a churro."

Everyone just stared. Did Illyria really value them on the same level as a pastry—or was this just her idea of some strange joke?

Angel, for his part, was incredulous. "Are you kidding! Those churros are completely overpriced!" Everyone stared harder, only at him this time. "What?"

--------------------

They went on Indy three more times (Gunn covering his eyes and ears for the rats, of course.) Four times might have brought on Angelus. It was on the second go-round that Illyria figured out that the ride was just that—a ride—but Spike quickly managed to convince her that she was actually still driving. (Whether his motivations had to do with preventing a violent tirade—or at least a good sulk—or the less noble fact that he liked her strutting was a matter of some debate.) Thankfully, the ride had so many variations worked in—differences in everything from visual affects to when the car idled—that his little fib was easy enough to pass off.

After finally taking their leave of Indy, there was a bit of a discussion on what to ride next. Angel, self-appointed tour guide, was torn between moving in a circular pattern and jumping around the park to hit the busiest rides first. Finally, they decided to hit the Jungle Cruise, seeing as it was directly in front of them. The ride, one of the longest in the park, was a boat trip down the major jungle rivers of the world. Lush imported greenery rose above their heads, and the animatronic plastic animals were very realistic. The trademark of the ride, though, was the corny jokes and commentary offered by the guide. That was a big hit with Fred and Gunn, who laughed hysterically at each and every one.

Though, it had to be admitted, the jokes really lost something with Illyria's punctuations of "I do not 'get it'" every ten seconds or so. There was also a bit of a rough spot when, at the beginning of the ride, the guide asked where everyone on the large-ish boat was from. Thankfully, Spike managed to cover by explaining that 'Primordium' was a small town in Iowa.

After that, there was little left in the land to see, considering that Gunn flat-out refused to be seen in anything called a "Tiki Room." The Tarzan Treehouse was briefly explored by the three supernatural members of the group—namely because they leaped up into it from the back and didn't have to take the endless stairs—and afterwards everyone regrouped to look at the pictures Fred had been snapping along the way with her digital camera. Angel wanted to be sure that the snaps of his beloved Indy Adventure had come out before they pressed forward to the next section of the park. Illyria, bored, wandered off in the direction of the Bengal Barbeque.

"Just go to the beginning," Angel asked Fred, who was flipping through the photos on the camera screen. Everyone leaned over her shoulder to see. In very short order it became apparent that something was a bit... off... about Fred's photographic endeavors.

"These from today?" Gunn asked, confused. "Shouldn't we be seein' some animals or something?"

"I'm sure they're in here somewhere," Fred replied.

"Oh, there's one of Wes," Angel pointed out.

"Wait a minute, why is he wearing a cowboy hat? We haven't been to Frontierland yet."

"Is that a holster?" asked Angel, brow furrowing slightly. Wes didn't reply.

"Looks like," commented Spike.

Fred began hitting the skip buttons a little more rapidly.

"Hey, wait—hold up, Fred. I think you found them." Gunn gestured at the screen. Angel leaned in. Fred squirmed.

"Did you take this one by the Tarzan Treehouse, Fred? There's this character guy in a loinclo—no, wait that's.... Wes?"

"Oh, look, a squirrel," Wes sing-songed, suddenly interested in a nearby tree.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Fred cleared her throat--- loudly—and stuffed the camera in her fanny pack.

"Let's move on, shall we?"

1 Comment by the author— Once on Indiana Jones, I convinced the little kids in the car that I was actually driving. Much fun and yelled instructions to 'turn, turn!' ensued. Highly recommended.


	3. New Orleans Square

New Orleans Square

Indiana Jones Adventure aside, Angel was not having an easy day.

"Spike! We've been here less than two hours and you've already lost Illyria!"

"She's not a piece of bloody luggage," his grandchilde argued. "And you were the one who was _so_ hell-bent on runnin' off to get that Splash Mountain fastpass!"

"What, do you _want_ to wait for two-and-a-half hours?"

"'Have to get a fastpass, have to get a fastpass!" mimicked Spike in an impossibly high voice, dancing about for good measure.

"Oh, that's mature," Angel grumbled.

"Relax, she probably just went to go use the...uhh... 'little goddess' room,'" Gunn assured them, not sounding too terribly assured himself.

"Nope, I already checked," came in Fred, coming back to the group with Wes in tow. "The two closest to here, anyway. And considering that the park has 52 public restrooms…"

"Did you check the men's room, Wes?" Angel sighed.

"No, why would I?"

"She's always going on about 'I'm a god-king, I'm beyond gender.... yada yada yada..."

"Trust me, she isn't," Spike asserted, very adamantly. "Anyway, Her Royal Blueness doesn't use the loo in the first place. She doesn't really need to eat or drink, so…"

"Why didn't you tell us that before?" Angel groaned in aggravation.

"Figured you knew."

Clearly, there was no use arguing with Spike. "Wes?" he changed tack, needing to vent.

"Maybe you could have mentioned something?"

Wesley had radar-vision securely locked in on Fred again. "Hmm, what?"

"Never mind."

To everyone's relief, Illyria soon wandered back over, her hands filled with shish kabobs. Judging from the amount of barbeque sauce thoroughly coating her face and hands, she'd already downed at least a good ten or more. Nonchalantly, she raised one of the meat-and-vegetable skewers to her mouth and took a bite.

"Illyria!" Angel cried. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Her reply was the unconcerned sound of teeth working away on a hank of bell pepper.

"Doesn't need to eat, huh?" he shot at Spike, who shrugged.

"I said doesn't _need_ to, not doesn't _like_ to."

"How did you buy all those, anyway?"

The goddess swallowed and deigned to answer his question. "I utilized the small plastic card that you used to barter entrance to this land."

"My credit card! Spike!!"

"What?" the blond vampire asked distractedly, watching Illyria demolish another kabob—stick and all. "Should I be turned on by this?" he asked Gunn as an aside.

"Nuh-uh," was Gunn's reply.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Angel pestered.

"Oh, uh—yeah. Thanks, Lyria-love. In a mind to share?" Illyria handed him a chicken kabob before eating another one herself. The wood skewer crunched with every bite. "Good fibre, that," he commented.

"Roughage," added Fred. "With an emphasis on the 'rough.' Ewww."

"Spike!!" Angel barked. "Anything else? Like maybe an 'I'm sor—"

" 'Course. Sorry, Fred," Spike apologized. "Leery, be a luv and give Fred one of those, too, eh? She's practically salivatin.'"

--------------------

"You guys are gonna love this one," Fred said as the group finally reached the Haunted Mansion ride. They'd been held up not a little by a very sore Angel, walking along stiffly after his attempt to introduce Illyria to the miracle of the Fresh-N-Soft baby wipe. A nonetheless barbeque-free Illyria had further responded by handing out shish kabobs not only to Fred, but to Spike, Wes, and Gunn as well. The others might have felt sorry for their noticeably left-out friend were they not so busy eating and discussing the rides to come.

"Yup, it's got a graveyard, a weird elevator, a ballroom, and these cool 'doom buggies' to ride in," Gunn agreed with Fred. "Right up our alley."

The Mansion was an absolutely beautiful Victorian-style manor house, surrounded by elegant landscaping and a small graveyard. After a brief wait in an outside line, a large group of patrons were ushered through the front door and directly into a large, cylindrical elevator with paneled walls. Trying to stay together, Team Angel found themselves smushed together in close quarters as the doors closed and lights dimmed.

Spike was becoming comfortably engrossed in the plotline of the ride, which was being explained by a deep, spooky voice over the loudspeaker, when he heard the odd sound of panting beside him. Illyria, wild-eyed, was casting jerky, almost panicked looks at the tight walls and packed-in crowd.

"It's too small, it's too small…" she began to mutter, voice raising with every word. Turning in a circle, she earned some annoyed glances from some fellow ride patrons when her elbows whacked against them.

The situation quickly reached desperate proportions. "You might'a warned us that Illyria's claustrophobic!" Spike hissed to Wes.

"You're her husband!" he replied.

"It never came up!"

All at once, Illyria was off, ramming through the crowds as she dashed the perimeter of the elevator. Park guests were flying into the air, feet above their heads, tossed up by her tunneling. Their grunts and surprised cries almost drowned out the piped-in announcer.

Spike tried very, very hard not to laugh.

"This chamber has no windows and no doors…" the narration voice went on. …so _how are you going to get out?_"

CRASH!!

Dust settled. Wood slivers dropped to the ground. People stared. Illyria was nowhere to be seen.

"Well," Spike couldn't resist quipping, "I guess there's always Illyria's way."

"Yeah," Fred seconded, staring at the odd, new, perfectly-Illyria-shaped hole in one wall of the elevator. With a little shrug and quirk of her mouth, she climbed through it and into the dark corridor that was the next part of the ride. Wesley followed, then Gunn and Angel, who finally just raised his hands as if absolving himself from further responsibility.

Spike was left with an elevator full of petrified, dumbstruck tourists.

"Sorry about the wall, mate," he told the nearest ride attendant, patting him on the shoulder. Without further ado, he slipped through the hole. Disneyland, he was sure, had plenty of insurance for this sort of thing.

If they didn't, he hoped for their sake that they got themselves some-- preferably in the next three minutes.

--------------------

Thankfully for all involved, the next corridor, while dark, was considerably more open. All along the walls were portraits that looked normal and lovely one moment, then turned decrepit and horrifying with a flash of light. Stone busts had eyes that appeared to follow the guests as they walked down the hall towards the ride's loading area. Tremendously large cobwebs hung liberally from the ceiling. Best of all, the gang could look at all this completely at their leisure, with no press of a crowd hurrying them along. The rest of the elevator's riders were giving them considerable berth.

Spike sauntered along beside his wife, casually taking in the portraits but mostly focused on the fun that was to be had ahead-- if he played his cards right. "Now, there's a bit of a… ritual… with these dark rides," he told his goddess, immediately piquing her interest. Illyria was liable to get interested in a trip to the drugstore if you used the word 'ritual' to describe it beforehand. Granted, this was because 'ritual,' in her day, had generally involved some form of worship directed at herself, and she was very testy to deal with if she discovered otherwise. Thankfully, this was not one of those times. "Once you get into the dark, you have to make out with the vampire on your left."

"Make… out?" Her brow furrowed.

"Sorry, didn't teach you that one." Illyria was not one for colloquialisms. "Snog?"

"Ah." She smiled. Spike smirked.

Unfortunately, he was not the vampire on her left. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"What?" Angel asked, clueless.

"Right, right!" Spike cut in. "The vampire on your right!" How on earth had he managed to mix those two up? "Bloody lift," he muttered, saving face. "Got me all turned around."

"This is a ritual?" she questioned as they reached the moving platform that would deposit them into their 'doom buggies.' Wes and Fred skipped ahead and happily settled into one of the domed black carts, followed by Gunn and Angel, who each took their own to stretch out in. The remaining couple stepped up to the belt.

Illyria had no problem whatsoever with this… making out as Spike called it, but she was usually not in the habit of showing such activities to all. Showing of affection could be interpreted by some as a moment of weakness. Even though she now knew better for herself, not everyone, she thought, was as brilliant and insightful as she.

"'Course. You don't do it-- and the ride breaks down right in the middle. Idn't that right, Wesley?" he called up to the first doom buggy. No answer. "Wesley? Fred?" Still, nothing. "There-- you see? Ritual."

Illyria had the distinct feeling that her husband was teasing her, but she cared little. The idea appealed to her as well. After leaping into a doom buggy of their own, she made herself comfortable and prepared for worship-- i.e. 'making out.' Spike grinned in a downright predatory manner, leaned over, and…

"Oi!" he yelled in annoyed shock as the lap bar automatically lowered, catching him in the chest. Thwarted again! "Bloody lap bars!"

The vampire's temper was soon appeased as his attention was captured by the goings on of the ride. The doom buggy was designed to swivel on the track at planned intervals, letting the riders see each section of the ride in a controlled manner much like a movie camera filmed a scene. It also occasionally gave glimpses of the doom buggy occupants directly in front of or behind one's own. Angel was gesturing at something before his buggy rounded the corner. Spike caught on. The first room was the conservatory, where a funeral was taking place. Unfortunately, the coffin didn't want to stay closed. The lid was being pounded on, with cries from within demanding to be let out.

"There's some memories," Spike muttered, a little disturbed. Illyria's answer was to shimmy over the lap bar. Bad memories flew as he ended up with an armful of demon-goddess-comfort.

The ride came only in little glimpses for the vampire after that. There was a hallway with creepy rattling knobs, a floating candelabra, and some grotesque glowing portraits that even the former Big Bad had to admit were enough to give him the willies. Another area held a full-scale séance with the head of a gypsy woman, Madame Leota, speaking from a crystal ball.

"Gypsies," Angel said a bit nervously, on instinct trying to look inconspicuous behind his lap bar.

Fred's squeals could be heard even from a distance as the group passed the large ballroom, where ghostly couples swirled over the floor. Everyone was most impressed with the largest scene-- a dark, sprawling graveyard with streams of ghosts flying and wailing overheard. A ghostly attic wedding topped things off.

Impressed, the gang tumbled out of their buggies at the end of the ride and discussed their favorite bits as they rode out on another moving sidewalk.

Spike, who had seen only about half of the ride due to the 'ritual,' summed it all up. "I've been a ghost, and trust me-- it wasn't this much fun."

--------------------

Pirates of the Caribbean, the only other ride in the Square, was next on the agenda. It had the fastest-moving line at Disneyland due to the large seating capacity of the flatboats, and the gang scarcely had time to look at the caricature paintings of famous pirates that donned the interior walls before they were in the boarding area and climbing onto their boat. They were all able to fit on one of the long benches, but that was where their luck ended. Directly in front of them was a gaggle of giggling, loud, thoroughly obnoxious pre-teen girls who wouldn't have stopped talking if the boat had turned over on top of them. It was also difficult to tell if they were babbling to each other, themselves, or into the light-up cell phones they each carried permanently fixed to their ears.1 Gunn wondered if it was some sort of mystical implant and shuddered.

Of course, they couldn't have been discussing anything remotely intellectual, or, to the men's point of view, remotely interesting either.2

"Johnny!"

"Orlando!"

"Johnny!"

"Orlando!"

"I cannot hear the skull," Illyria grumped, referring to the talking scull and crossbones whose free-floating voice was introducing the ride plot. "I am tempted to take these mindless pre-pubescent and deliver them over the side of this vessel."

"No one's stopping you," Angel murmured. He would have been shocked to find himself condoning one of his rival's actions were he not so completely, mind-twistingly annoyed by the girls.

"JOHNNY!"

"ORLANDO!"

"Or I may make trophies of their spines," the Old One amended. "Poor trophies though they may be."

"No one's…" Angel caught himself just in time. Illyria was not making any immediate moves toward spine removal, anyway. He was beginning to think that most of her threats were cathartic in nature. Most.

"Besides, Wes is hotter'n both of 'em," Fred giggled flirtatiously, snuggling up to her husband. The former Watcher lit up like a Lite-Brite.

"I thought that would start to wear off," Gunn said, observing. "But it's only gotten worse since the wedding."

Angel's brow creased. "Wait a minute. Let me get this straight—Wes and Fred... are married?"

Gunn couldn't believe it. Sure, Angel was a little slow on picking up romantic cues, but this was ridiculous! "Don't you remember-- the church, white dress, lots of organ music, flowers?"

Nothing.

"You were in it! And then there was the Blue Meanie marching Spike up to the alter so he could swear eternal fealty and they could mate at will?"

Wes, overhearing, put in his two cents. "That really added a sacred touch to the ceremony. Though you do have to appreciate her traditional values."

"Or was that _you_ who swore the eternal fealty and love-slavery?" Gunn half-teased. "Little fuzzy on that part."

--------------------

Pirates was a big hit. The gang floated along in their boat, taking in the sights of animatronic pirates ransacking a Caribbean town, complete with canons, boats, gun battles, and rampant fires. Despite what seemed like a serious theme, the ride was lighthearted due to the comic nature of the pirates and the cheery "Yo Ho, Yo Ho," number that piped in throughout the ride. (The fact that it finally drowned out the pre-teen girls was an added plus.) Before long, the guests were singing along with gusto.

_Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate's life for me_

_We're beggars and blighters and ne'r-do-well cads_

_Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!_

_Aye, but we're loved by our mummies and dads_

_Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!_

_We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack_

_Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!_

_Maraud and embezzle and even hijack_

_Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!_

Gunn by far had the best voice of the group, though his encore-worthy "I am a Pirate King" from Gilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance, performed in the line, was the better showcase for his talents. Wesley sounded like quite possibly the most ridiculously refined pirate ever in existence, Fred was just plain off-key half the time and didn't care, and Illyria was singing a full octave _below_ the male-voiced soundtrack. Spike had a good voice, but was too turned on by Illyria's near-bass rumbling to get anything out.

Angel, feeling caught up in the spirit of the thing, joined in on about the fourth round.

It could have been a coincidence, but the ride suddenly stopped dead.

1 This is also based on a real event. Man, those girls were loud.

2 The author is not dismissing the value of this topic, only that enough is enough. Besides, anyone knows that the answer is clearly 'Johnny.'


	4. Tom Sawyer IslandCritter Country

Tom Sawyer's Island/Critter Country

All the way across Critter Country to Splash Mountain, "Pirates of the Caribbean" was still the focus of avid conversation.

" 'S really amazing," Spike commented philosophically, "how much losing the entire sound system takes away from a ride."

"What was left of the ride, you mean," Gunn amended. "Who knew a sound system could warp so bad it takes the rest of the electrical system with it."

"Oh, an' here's a shock," Spike added in mock surprise, holding out his Fastpass and thumbing at the entrance sign to Splash Mountain. Behind him was the ride itself, fronted by an impressive flume drop. "Peaches here gets all worked up about having these bloody things, an' now we still have to wait."

"It's not my fault that 'Pirates' broke down," Angel protested just as one of the log boats hit the bottom of the drop with a crash of water. "If it hadn't we wouldn't be here too early for our Pass time."

"Actually…" Gunn started.

"It _wasn't_ my fault! The sound system blowing out was a total coincidence. It had nothing to do with my singing! It was probably those girls in front of us with their cell phones. You know-the…. Ummm…"

"Interference?" Gunn filled in skeptically.

"That's it!"

"Well, it _was_ pretty tight getting to step out onto the sets when they had to evacuate us. Just try not to sing again when we're going down the drop on this thing, okay? We wouldn't want to de-rail."

The vampire, realizing that he was clearly not going to win the argument, changed tack. "Fine, whatever. There's still plenty of rides right here in Critter Country and on Tom Sawyer Island that we can go on while we're waiting." He consulted his park mapwhich he held as something akin to a sacred textand frowned. "Though technically the island is in Frontierland and I just don't know if we should be crossing over into…"

"Critter Country?" Gunn cut back in, raising an eyebrow. "I ain't going on anything with the word 'critter' in it. Had enough 'critters' this morning on that Indiana Jones ride."

Angel went on, sounding a bit exasperated. Why was no one else taking this planning seriously? Even Wesley, his fellow strategist, looked completely distracted. Typicaljust typical. "There's the 'Winnie the Pooh' ride…"

"Please," Spike grunted out a laugh. "The line's way too long for what it is… and look, 's got a _Fastpass,_" he added, rubbing it in. He turned toward Fred. "Hey, Winifredanyone ever call you 'Winnie?'"

"Not twice," Fred replied sweetly.

"What does that have to do withthis isn't helping!" Angel fought the urge to tear at his own hair. "We're on a schedule, people!"

"This isn't some Apocalypse," Spike reminded him.

"You gotta change modes," Fred agreed, though without Spike's mocking tone. "Just relax and enjoy it."

There was a long pause, during which Angel temporarily seemed to be trying out her advice. Then"Davey Crockett Explorer Canoes?"

"Nuh-uh," Gunn replied with a decisive shake of his head.

"What's wrong with them?"

"Those are for kids, man," he explained.

Fred beamed. "Oh, Charles, don't you remember last time we were here? You looked so cute paddling around in the little canoe with your raccoon hat and…"

"Fred!" poor Gunn ground out under his breath, sending a desperate look in her direction. It was too late. The damage had been done. The three other men straightway burst out into snickerseven the stoic Angel. Illyria didn't laugh, but then she wasn't paying much attention. She'd earlier grown impatient with the group's tiresome deliberation and had moved on to engage in what she undoubtedly considered better conversation with a nearby flowering shrub.

"Spiiike," Gunn warned, noticing that the vampire was about to loose what was sure to be a snarky comment. "Nuh-uh. Not a word."

"Oh, I wasn't going to say anything…" Spike replied, raising his hands. "… _Charles._"

"This from the Big Bad who spent _both_ his lives getting jerked around by the nose by his girlfriends!" Gunn teased back.

"That's not true!" Spike protested, then crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "Just so happens 'm a romantic, 's all."

"You're married to a blue dominatrix!"

" 'm not! I'll 'ave you know she's actually right cuddly once you…" Spike cut himself off, realizing for the umpteenth time that he was revealing the cracks in his otherwise tough persona.

"She wanted me to take her to Petco the other day so she could get 'her pet' a new collar. Halfway through the trip I figured out it was you!"

"I… think I'm just going to check out of this conversation now," Wes said, taking a step back.

"Like you didn't want to know!" Spike half-teased on impulse.

"What?" broke in Fred.

"Nevermind," said Wesley.

Illyria moved onto the next flower bed and struck up a chat. Angel was still buried to the eyebrows in his park map.

"We're going to take a vote, people!" he cut in at last, having to raise his voice to be heard over the now rather noisy conversation. "Gunn, what do you want to do?"

"Anything but the canoes," he grumbled.

"The canoes!" countered Fred excitedly, visions dancing in her head of her four boys paddling her around the river like Cleopatra on her barge. Since Illyria was clearly engrossed in talking with the trees, she probably wouldn't notice that they'd gone, and the guys would be hers, all hers…

"Wes?"

"The canoes," put in Wesley, the notion of impressing Fred with his paddling skills foremost in his mind. If Gunn had done it, he wanted to do it, and there was little more to it than that. Unfortunately, he really had no canoeing experience and so there was the distinct possibility that he'd only make a bumbling mess out of it… A slightly worried expression came over his face.

"Spike?"

"Tom Sawyer Island doesn't look bad." The blond vampire had been eyeing the canoes in question, and he had no particular desire to be splashed in the face by children's errant paddlingwhich appeared to be the activity du jour. In fact, it seemed to him a minor miracle that the boats were actually moving forward at all.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with you," Angel said. "And since it looks like Illyria's vote is for communing with the landscaping, we're going to go with…"

Just then, Illyria whirled back around toward the group and shot her usual hard, dispassionate stare in Angel's direction. "Do not presume to answer for me, vampire. The Green has informed me that there is a large fortification on this island you mentioned. I demand to see it."

"The island it is then," Spike agreed.

"Fine. But I still want to take the canoes," Fred pouted.

* * *

Fred, Illyria, and Spike were all disappointed upon embarking across the narrow Rivers of America. Spike wanted to take the impressive pirate ship, The Columbia, across, while Illyria insisted that only the majestic white paddle steamer, the Mark Twain Riverboat, was worthy enough to provide adequate passage to a great being such as herself. Fred was still canoe-happy. Unfortunately, all three of those boats went _around_ the island, not _to_ it, and so they had to make do with crowding onto the small, simple, flat-bottomed Injun Joe Ferry with the rest of the park patrons.1 While Spike and Fred handled their disappointment with minimal fuss, Illyria was quite vocal, earning several dirty looks from those nearbylooks which, of course, she appeared to completely ignore. As things turned out, the other guests didn't really care for being referred to as "stinking flotsam."

"You misunderstand," Wesley tried to cover. "She was referring to the build-up under the docks. Really quite filthy."

Fred offered a simpler explanation. "PMS," she whispered confidentially, and several women nodded in understanding. She whispered not because she was afraid of angering Illyria with the word but simply because she could just _hear_ the big Smurf coming out with 'What is this PMS?' at ninety decibels. Winifred could come up with ten things she really _did not_ want to do on her day of Disney fun (or really, ever) and explaining human bodily functions to the demon who had taken over her original body was pretty high on the list.

Thankfully for all involved, Illyria's disdain for the ferryboat evaporated upon landing. In no time at all she was headed uphill for the fort while the rest of the gang took their time exploring the small wooded island. There was a barrel bridge to run across as well as several rock tunnels and formations. The largest was shaped like a castlebut unfortunately it was not quite large enough for average-sized adults. Fred managed to shimmy through by almost army-crawling, but Angel was not so lucky. Stuck half-inside and half-outside of the castle "door," he grimaced and kicked his feet as Spike howled in laughter.

"Let's 'ave that camera, Fred," he grinned, and she complied, giggling in spite of herself.

"We really should get him out," she gasped, holding her sides. Spike's reply was to take three or four shots of Angel's feet helplessly thrashing at the air.

"Yes, absolutely," Wesley concurred, but he was laughing, too.

"Ladies and gentlementhe world's champion!" Gunn joked.

"Not funny guys!" Angel's voice echoed from inside the rock walls. They only laughed harder, and the sound propelled him enough to finally wrench free. He immediately took off after the camera-holding Spike, who raced across the swaying barrel bride. His grandsire was hot on his heels.

"They're just like big kids," Fred shook her head, watching them run full-tilt for the fort. "Uh, oh."

Illyria, back in full leather-armor gear, stood atop said fort with one end of what looked like a large, curving battle scythe firmly planted beside her. She certainly hadn't had it coming into the park, but Fred supposed that if she could conjure up armor, she could likely use the same process for a ceremonial weapon. "I claim this fortress in the name of Illyria, master of all Old Ones!" she thundered, her voice literally rumbling the stones. "Bow in submission or be destroyed and ground into dust!"

As if on cue, every single childand several adultson the island burst out crying.

Coming up on the fort, the two vampires skidded to a halt. "Spike," Angel groaned, "your wife just terrified half the population again."

"'M on it," Spike sighed, running to avert his beloved's latest domination scheme. Honestly, in his opinion, humans were altogether too jumpy.

* * *

By that time, the gang was well within their allotted Fastpass return time for Splash Mountain, and so they headed back to the attraction. Illyria, weaponless and tee-shirted after a long persuasion session by her husband, was as happy as she'd been all day. Her Tom Sawyer Island kingdom, though paltry and small, was secure. Not a single one of the terrified human pupae inhabitants had dared set foot on her fortress since she had claimed it. Many of them had fled the island entirely, not even waiting for the ferryboat but choosing instead to dive into the river and swim across in their panic.2 Their fear of her was so great that she need not occupy the island but could explore other areas of this Disney land that she might wish to conquer at her leisure. Tiny kingdoms though they were in comparison to her territory in her first life, they were colorful and full of Green, and, being so easily-maintained, would give her something to do in her spare time. Illyria would have died before admitting it, but one of the aspects of her human life that she found… almost bearable… was that it was certainly more restful than her former one. Tending (and being tended by) her Spike-pet took up a fair amount of her time, as did fighting lower demons with her "team," but neither activity was nearly so strenuous as her duties in the past. In fact, they were more… enjoyable… as well. If she had to live in this world in a human form, she could certainly do worse, and the addition of a few territories to run in her idle minutes would only improve it. Her new allies could not object, either, she was certain. After all, she had not broken her word (and Illyria never broke her word) and killed humans in order to conquer her island. It had been almost disappointingly easy.

On their way back to Critter Country, however, the gang could not help but notice a large crowd babbling and gesturing wildly to a couple of overwhelmed Disney employees. A second look made their identities perfectly clearthe panicked throng of people were none other than Illyria's new "subjects," many of them dripping wet from recent swimming.

"Her voiceit justit just shook the ground! And she had this big curved blade thing!" spit out one individual, eyes wide.

"She was blue, man! I'm not kidding, she was blue!" gasped a terrified teen.

One of the employees attempted to placate the speakers with a "slow down" gesture. "It's okay. What you probably saw were some of the pieces from our 'Fantasmic' show. They're stored on the island and some prankster might've got back there and set off a few of the effects."

That seemed to quiet everyone… until they saw Illyria walk by, freezing them with a dominant look designed to get them all back in line. The babbling erupted anew.

"That's her! That's her!"

"She's less blue now," puzzled the teen, worrying his lip. "But it's her!"

The other employee, a kindly-looking elderly gentleman, turned to look at Illyria. "That little lady?" The demoness responded with a tilt of her head. "Awww, now look at that. It couldn't have been that sweet girl. Look how cute she is."

"Awwwwww," agreed the crowd in chorus. Illyria, relating their 'awwww' to _awe,_ was well pleased. She had not taken the man's words as an insult. Though she vastly preferred her native form, which had been large enough to blot out suns and moons from view, she needed not size to rule. If the humans believed she was "sweet" and "cute," their misconceptions could be used to her own advantage.

Fred, on the other hand, was not pleased. In fact, she rapidly turned downright purple. "Darling, what's the matter," asked Wesley, slightly alarmed, as they moved away from the now much calmer scene.

"I'm the cute one, dang it," she muttered between her teeth.

* * *

"Gee, do you think we're going to get wet?" jested Gunn, pointing to a wooden sign on the Splash Mountain line path. It was at least the sixth "You Will Get Wet" sign they had seen so far, hanging alongside old-fashioned farming implements and gas lanterns on the wooden walls. As they progressed, the carved inscriptions grew more and more emphatic. The next read "You Will Get Very Wet." As the gang climbed up a final flight of stairs to the log loading area, the message was upgraded to "You Will Get Soaked!"

The promise of impending wetness was realized the moment the little group prepared to climb down into their boat. Not only was the long, narrow central seat dripping water, but there was at least a good two inches sloshing about on the curved floor.

"They weren't kidding around," Gunn groused, unable to hide a wince at the prospect of sitting down on the damp seat.

"It's not gonna get any drier," Fred rationalized, going for the front of the log.

"We better put Spike in front," Angel commented, then cracked a rare smile of his own and pointed to the loading chart. It read, in big bold print"Shorter Passengers to the Front" along with a helpful diagram. Spike made an ugly face in reply. Fortunately for him, Angel's joke could not quite be carried through. Illyria had claimed the front seat already and from the looks of it was _not _going to be moved. Wesley had already dropped down into the log behind Fred, who was silently fuming at Illyria's sudden usurpation of her chosen seat, and wrapped his arms around her. His maneuver was not carried out solely for romantic purposes (it was difficult to be romantic anyway dropping down a multi-story flume), but more for the purpose of separating her from Illyria. (Dropping down a multi-story flume was also not, he figured, the best time and place to launch WWIII.) He shot Spike a look and a gesture which the vampire correctly interpreted as a call for intervention. In a moment, Spike was behind Illyria and in front of Fred, while the remaining two men filled in the last two seats. The height differences were not enough to cause any loading problems, and in another moment the log was released into a quick-flowing stream.

"You get the wettest in the front seat, anyway," Fred grumbled as they started off. The prospect of seeing multiple gallons of cold water drop onto Illyria's head brightened her mood somewhat.

If Illyria just so happened to be knocked clean out of the log in the process, Fred amended, she would be even happier.

* * *

Five minutes later into the ride, Illyria was still seated and Fred was considerably mollified, due to the cheery theme and sunny songs of the ride. It was based on "The Song of the South," and followed the adventures of Brer Rabbit through the bayous, accompanied at every turn by his happily singing animal friends. So far they had gone down one small drop, and, if the shrieks coming from the logs directly in front of them were any indication, they were headed rather quickly for a second.

Sure enough, the ride cavern darkened, lit only by illuminated, bright yellow beehives above their heads. Tricks of light and buzzing effects created the image of bees angrily swarming about.

"There's nothing in here," cried a narration voice over the loudspeaker, "but beeeeeeessss…..!"

On his last word, the log plummeted downward though the darkness in a stomach-fluttering double-drop. Small waves sloshed briskly against the sides of the boat as they hit the bottom. The cool, fresh scent of churning water drifted up though the air.

"The 'bee drop' caused a strange sensation to arise in my midsection," Illyria yelled over the resuming music.

"That's why people go on these rides, Illy," Spike yelled back. Around them, the ride was once again taking a much darker turn. "To feel their stomachs come up into their throats!"

"I could have assisted them in such a matter if they wished it. They need not have waited in line."

"Illyria, if you're going to get sick, do it over the side," instructed Angel, also at a yell. Evidently he'd only picked up part of the conversation. Far in front of them, a passenger in the next log turned around and shot them all a somewhat disgusted look.

Angel's vampiric hearing picked up whimpering from the self same log. "Mommy, is my stomach really going to…?"

Just then, there were screams filling the air. The log in front of them completely disappeared.

Spike was still attempting, without much success, to explain a figure of speech to his incredibly literal demoness. "No, that's what it _feels_ like, they don't really…. Hold on." He realized that he was no longer having to shout over the music, which had changed from its upbeat tune to a foreboding, minor-key lament. The singing voice came from a mother rabbit animatronic, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair, her bunnies in her lap. Underneath it all was the unmistakable sound of gears pulling their log slowly but steadily up a steep incline towards a circle of light ahead.

"This is it! We're almost there!" Gunn exclaimed. Fred, also excited, pointed out another group of figures alongside the narrow waterway. Poor Brer Rabbit was dangling precariously above a bubbling stew pot, a flickering shadow of a sharp-toothed and grinning Brer Fox behind him.

"No, no!" Brer Rabbit pleaded. "Do anything to me, just don't throw me in the Briar Patch!"

At that very moment, the log reached the top of the incline and seemed to teeter on the brink of the fall. It was the point of no returna slight delay designed to give the riders pause as to why in the heck they had been crazy enough to try the ride in the first placeand to realize that there was no possible way to get out of it. There was the Briar Patch…. a good 52-and-half-feet… straight… down. For a few long seconds the gang had a view of not only the entire Disneyland park, but the neighboring cities as well. Illyria was just scouting a few prime spots for kingdom expansion when the log went over the spillway.

"Um, would this be a bad time to tell all of you that I'm afraid of HEEIIIGGGHHHTTTSSS!" Angel yelled as the log plunged down the 45-degree flume at at least 40 miles per hour, sending up tall sheets of water on each side as it hit the bottom of the drop. His voice died down to a gargle when both waterwalls folded down in on themselves and crashed directly onto his head.

Everyone else, save for having slightly wet jeans from the already-damp seats, was bone dry.

* * *

The ride ended with a short trip through some spectacular settings, the finale being a large, rocking steamboat decked with singing animals. An unscathed Brer Rabbit reclined off to one side, and from all around rang the happy strains of "Zip-E-Dee-Doo-Dah."

"_Zip-e-dee-doo-dah, zip-e-dee-ay_

_My-oh-my what a wonderful day._

_Plenty of sunshine heading my way_

_Zip-e-dee-doo-dah, zip-e-dee-ay!"_

Just before the log boat pulled back in to the loading station, it passed a small television mounted near the ceiling. A camera had snapped pictures of each logful of riders as they zipped down the flume, and those pictures now flashed on the screen as the appropriate boat passed. The gang had only a fleeting glance of their photo before they reached the boarding area and climbed out.

Upon winding their way down the exit path, they paused at the photo station, at which the flume pictures could be viewed againand, of course, purchased. Several snaps of other groups cycled through before theirs came up on one of the small viewing screens.

"There it is!" Gunn pointed, and all heads swiveled to look.

At first, the photo appeared perfectly typical. Angel was screaming, Gunn was cheering. From then on things grew distinctly… odd. Wesley was holding onto an airborne Fred, who, being practically weightless herself, was floating a good foot above the bench seat. However, she'd still managed to put bunny ears on an equally air-lifted Illyria. Spike was doing a similar service as Wes in holding down his own lady-love, with the big difference that he was holding onto a vaguely inappropriate part of her anatomy. (No one believed that this was an accident.) Illyria, completely nonplussed, was starting at the hand in question.

"It's uhh... not exactly one you'd send home to Mom, is it?" Gunn commented with a little laugh.

"Let's get one!" Fred said.

"It costs seven bucks!" Angel spluttered.

"Hey, Leery—do you remember those numbers that were on the 'strange plastic card?'" Spike asked out of the side of his mouth.

Too busy wringing out his shirt for the second time, Angel didn't hear her as she started to rattle them off…

* * *

1 Only having been to TSI once myself, I don't really remember anything but the ferry. My statement about the other boats may be inaccurate.

2 As per my disclaimer, don't try this.

3 Okay, so they really wouldn't let you buy the picture with just the credit card number. It's a plot joke. Work with me.


End file.
